


And So We Wait

by ForgedObsidian



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Spoilers for Vol 2, except maybe for the peter/gamora thing, this is all platonic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-27
Updated: 2017-05-27
Packaged: 2018-11-05 14:43:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11015520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForgedObsidian/pseuds/ForgedObsidian
Summary: Peter isn’t sure how long he hung in space clinging to the body of what had been his captain. Time twists, bringing memories of the past to soothe the pain of the present.





	And So We Wait

He floats, and floats, Yondu held in front of him because like _damn_ he’ll let go now.  
  
He’d stopped crying a while ago, though he’s not sure if he can trust his sense of time. His tears don’t fall through the space suit, the moisture deciding to float around in the zero gravity. Most of it is stuck in his hair.  
  
He still mumbles, though, whispering “No, no,” until his throat goes raw. He never gets an answer, and at some point he accepts that he won’t.  
  
It’s a little difficult, keeping hold of Yondu through the field the suit offers. He has to be careful. The Centaurian had a layer of ice across his skin that had pushed it’s way to the outer edges of his clothing. He felt brittle, almost like he could snap in Peter’s grip.  
  
Peter had thought many many things of Yondu through the years, but _fragile_ had never been one of them.  
  
Peter wants to push Yondu’s eyes closed, but he doesn’t trust his shaking hands. Every now and again he gives a cough, aware that the oxygen in his suit is getting lower. Maybe he prays. He can’t remember.  
  
He can remember what it was like to feel his chest expand from the inside out, the pressure boiling the spit in his mouth. But he doesn’t even know if that’s what Yondu felt, because apparently he was part god (“Little ‘g,’ son,” his mind supplies and he wants to scream) and that’s gotta be part of the reason he didn’t just expire when he was trying to get Gamora the oxygen she needed.  
  
Peter wants to throw up, but that feeling is pretty much canceled out by the gaping hole that’s growing in his chest.  
  
Yondu still had an echo of an expression on his face, frozen to his skin. It was oddly peaceful, in a way that Peter had only seen during quiet nights on the _Elector_.  
  
He remembered falling asleep after a job, his growing body worn out from running through back alleys and crawling through vents. He’d woken up with Yondu’s Ravager coat thrown over his shoulders like a blanket.  
  
The first time he saw Yondu give a genuine laugh, not out of malice or a need to intimidate someone else, was another memory. They’d been drinking, Peter learning just how much tolerance he’d need for space brew. Kraglin had tried to serenade one of the waiters, managed to succeed, and Kraglin’s flabbergasted face had sent Yondu into hysterics.  
  
Peter held onto those memories, keeping them close to all the arguments he’d had with the captain over the years. He wouldn’t say that it’d been all sunshine and flowers, growing up the way he did. He’d been afraid often when he was younger, and it hadn’t been as nurturing as it’d been with his mother. Still, he’d turned out okay for the most part, and Ego hadn’t managed to lay a finger on him when he was young.  
  
Small mercies, then.  
  
His mind blanks out, and the next thing he knows he’s being pulled into the cargo hold on the _Quadrant_ , his grip never failing on Yondu. The tractorbeam is a comforting yellow, compared to the darkness of space and the empty light in Yondu’s red eyes.  
  
The ship shudders around his head, almost as though it knew its captain was never going to come back. He can see Rocket and Drax on the other side of the grav-shield, relief on both their faces.  
  
The gravity shifts around him, pulling him to the floor with a clatter. He tries to not land on Yondu, but his efforts are wasted. He falls across the captain’s body, the ice collected on the frozen jacket already starting to melt through Peter’s shirt. Still, he doesn’t let go of Yondu’s shoulder.  
  
Rocket is the first at his side, a painful glint in his dark eyes. He’s the one to remove the space suit. It takes longer than expected, and Rocket curses more than once. Apparently Yondu had broken it just enough that Peter himself wouldn’t be able to remove it in some attempt to save the captain. Peter swallows, and remembers removing his helmet to give Gamora more time to breathe.  
  
The moment the suit deactivates he’s grabbing at Yondu’s jacket, something building in his throat. A choked gasp eeks between his teeth, and he rests his head on Yondu’s chest and tries to breathe.  
  
Yondu is easier to hold without the space suit getting in the way.  
  
Kraglin shows up soon after, a blank look on his face. He knows what a space-dead body looks like, and he knows what choice his captain made. His steps are shaky, but he manages to make his way to Yondu’s side before falling to his knees. He’s sniffing, and tears are tracking down his pockmarked cheeks.  
  
Peter can feel the shudder in Yondu’s body when Kraglin grabs his captain’s arm, giving it a pathetic shake. A whine builds in Kraglin’s throat. “Fucking _dammit_.”  
  
Drax places a thick hand on Peter’s shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I’m sorry, Peter.”  
  
He shook his head. “‘S not your fault.”  
  
There’s a quiet patter behind him and he turns to find Gamora, one hand lifted to her mouth as she took in the scene before her. Her hair was frizzy, leftover static from a stunner still crackling at the tips of her hair. She stepped forward and placed a hand on Peter’s open shoulder.  
  
The decision about a funeral comes from Kraglin. His eyes are red with tears and he keeps patting at the flame stitched into Yondu’s jacket.  
  
At some point Rocket disappears, a sad look on his face. Peter wonders about that, why the raccoon was mourning Yondu like an old friend. Maybe he’ll ask later.  
  
Peter doesn’t leave Yondu’s side, even when Gamora pulls at his jacket and says that he needs to rest. Melting ice was creating a growing puddle on the floor of the hold. Peter was able to breathe, again, but he felt weary down to his bones. He’d compare it to holding an infinity stone, but this feeling tears at his soul in a way that the stone never managed to even touch.  
  
Yondu’s red eyes were still open, staring up at the ceiling. They were glassy and frostbitten, and with a shaking hand Peter gently palmed them closed.  
  
_Yondu resting just behind him, showing his young hands how to steer an M-ship. “Now, boy, the trick to flying is to keep in mind that ya can’t see everythin’. Sense what’s goin’ on behind ya, n’ act accordingly. Tha’s what makes a good pilot.”_  
  
Peter shudders and grips the lapels of Yondu’s jacket, fingers finding the seams in the worn leather. He’d never noticed how Yondu had aged since he was picked up on Earth. The dark of his beard had faded to silver, and the scars on his face pulled at his skin in a way that they hadn’t ten years ago.  
  
_“Dammit, Quill! What’d I tell ya about runnin’ blind?” Yondu said, pressing a disinfecting cloth against the cut on Peter’s head._  
  
Peter can feel the thick scar that follows Yondu’s spine when he gently cradles his hand behind the Centaurian’s neck, slipping his coat under the captain’s head. He’d only seen it once, when he was younger. It didn’t stop until midway on Yondu’s back, a thick twist of silvery tissue that stretched from his implant to coil around his spine.  
  
_“Used to have a organic fin. Lost it. Doin’ just fine, though. There’s some things you’ll just have to live without, boy.” Yondu scratched at his implant and the back of his neck, cracked nails pulling at the thick skin._  
  
Peter swallowed, running a hand down Yondu’s arm. Kraglin was still there, and Rocket had come back. Groot was riding on his shoulder, a sad frown on the young plant’s face.  
  
Groot hopped down, slowly walking over to the prone form of the Ravager captain. “I . . . am Groot,” he said, a question in his voice.  
  
“No, Groot, he’s not just taking a nap,” Rocket said with a sigh.  
  
“I am Groot.” The child reached out and placed a wooden hand on Yondu’s chilled shoulder, an understanding look on his face that somehow seemed impossibly old. “I am Groot,” he whispered. A white flower started to bud on his shoulder, and when it bloomed it showed purple spots and streaks trekking up the petals.  
  
Groot plucked it from his shoulder and placed it next to Yondu’s face with a sad and gentle smile.  
  
_“Can’t believe you forgot a coat,” Yondu mumbled, letting Peter curl up next to his side. Centaurians always ran hotter than Terrans, a fact that the young boy takes advantage of with a grin._  
  
Yondu isn’t warm. Leftover ice still rests in the crevices of his uniform, and the chill of space went down to his bones. Gamora sits down next to him, putting an arm around his shoulder.  
  
Mantis is awake, now, and reaches out to Peter. Drax stops her with a hand on her arm and a shake of his head. Her mouth twists as she starts to cry. Drax pulls her close, careful to not let her hands touch his skin. He is gentle, one hand rubbing consoling circles on her shoulder blades.  
  
Rocket is holding his shoulders and hunching in on himself, claws digging into his arms.  
  
Peter doesn’t know where Nebula is, but he knows she’s around. He doesn’t know why she stays, though, with plenty of spare ships in the hold of the _Quadrant_. Maybe he’ll ask Gamora later.  
  
Kraglin is still crying, sniffing and rubbing at his nose with his sleeve.  
  
_“Not half bad, Peter,” Yondu said, his voice impressed. He reached over the haul Peter had managed to swipe from their target and ruffled the boy’s hair._  
  
“You fucking idiot,” Peter muttered, rubbing at his eyes. Another sob builds in his chest, and he turns his face into Gamora’s shoulder. She gently rubs the back of his head, a thick feeling in her throat.  
  
Peter still has a grip on Yondu’s jacket. The old leather groans in his hand, and Peter starts to cry.  
  
_Peter grinned, his youthful face happy. He was sitting on Yondu’s shoulders, hands carefully resting on either side of the fin implant. Yondu had a firm grip on his feet, keeping the boy staunchly in place._  
  
_“You see ‘em yet?”_  
  
_“Yeah, Yondu. They’re over by the bar.”_  
  
_“Shouda figured.”_  
  
_“Well, ‘s not like they woulda been in the library or something.”_  
  
_He felt Yondu’s shoulders quake as he laughed._

**Author's Note:**

> I just saw Vol. 2 again and needed to vent my emotions.
> 
> Thanks for reading!!


End file.
